The Sedation Of The Reaper
by anarchist.itch
Summary: Follow a survivor amongst Rick's group, where death, the undead, the living, and love are all trying to kill and reshape her. I changed it up to accommodate my OC but it will follow the plotline just differently than AMC. - She was a survivor just like them all,she had needs, the will,and the strength in her to keep them all safe. Even if it meant sacrificing and killing herself.
1. Chapter 1

Hello,

I worked on this Alternative Universe fic constantly and consistently for four-ish months. I would write about 1K and leave it alone and go back to it a couple days later revise it and continue forward. I have proofread it everytime I added new words, although I may have left a few mistakes, if there is please comment/PM me (whichever fits you)so I can correct it as fast as possible. This is from the heart and tried my best to make it as realistic as possible, I used emotions I have felt and amplified it with this character as well as the others. I did have some issues sympathizing with some of the actions, so I would talk to my friends who have gone through those specific emotions and I tried my best and hopefully I did it justice. The main character's last name is Daaé (pronounced Die-A), a tribute to my favorite book and Opera of all time: The Phantom of The Opera by Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I wanted her to grow, learn, defy, and have losses and gains just as the main characters of the TV show. I will be following the TV series but I will be changing things up- a heads up right now. I did screw with the timeline a bit, all I did was have Rick wake up a week or so earlier and the plot of Season 1 Episode 1 will start (you'll know). Some characters will be kept alive until I feel I should kill them off the way I believe they should have,and as well keep some deaths similar to the comics. I will begin from season one up to however long this character lives alongside Rick, Hershel, etc. I do not gain any type of recognition from The Walking Dead creators, AMC or Kirkman. I hope you begin to love, hate and feel embarrassment for these character(s) I created as much as I felt writing them to life. All comments are welcomed, please let me know how you like it, what you hate it, and what you believe needs work on. Enjoy :)

 _Ellis_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One: The Road To Home**

Long, pale fingers ran the wet cloth against his skin, watching the little gleams of sweat be absorbed by the water, his pinched face becoming relaxed instantly. She knew dehydration must be kicking in, too fearful of going to the other floors to find more replenishment bags to sustain him. So Morticia had stuck to dipping the corner of a wet cloth between his chapped lips and encouraging- begging he would swallow the little water. She had taken care of him for a better month and a half, ignoring the occasional groans and snarls that could be heard from the trapped Roamer in the room beside the Sheriff's own. Moving his limbs to stimulate his muscles and rolling him so he wouldn't get bed sores, talking to him so hopefully he could wake up and maybe just maybe they could get out of the hospital where a Roamer was around every corner it seemed. Her little tub of food and water supply was shortening. A stark and dangerous reality for any normal person but Morticia Daaé was beyond that, for after a small couple bites of stale bread dipped in sugar water was enough to keep her going until her belly growled, reminding her she needed to eat. Then a few more bites and hopefully she wasn't hungry after another whole day had passed.

Morticia thanking to any deity that existed her mother had stuck her to small rations since she was young girl. Never wanting her only child to suffer from obesity at such a young age. Wanting her daughter to be the girl in class with the high stark cheekbones and the collarbones that seemed as the skin was pulled taut against the bone. And Morticia was. Considered one of the cliques in school of the popular ones. Captain of the Pirate's cross-country team and President of the Association of Student Body, Morticia was the perfect military daughter, with her long bouncy red blonde curls and her eyes of a deep brown yet such a rich green. After graduating at 16, she was glad to no longer be under the calloused thumb of her father and the snappy insults of her mother.

Leaving for Dartmouth, after kissing each cheek of her parent's goodbye, Morticia let her closest friend chop her hair shoulder length- dyeing the infamous strawberry blonde to such a deep onyx black and finally learned the basics of makeup she was banned of touching in the Daaé farm.

Those were her days. Her better days of having a friend she could trust. Staying late on occasion, trying every makeup palette. Their vibrant colors enticing her, the music her roommate would blast had her bite her lip in awe. Her best of days.

Until she turned 19, graduating Dartmouth after passing as many classes she could in a semester for every semester and before her father commanded her back home in their quaint town in Colorado to do her surgical internship in the military base that praised her father, Morticia packed her meagre belongings and shipped them to King's County, Georgia. Till this day, she could feel the wrath of her father, how grave his anger was deeply rooted against his youngest child. She still dreamt of how painful the sting will resonate against her skull if her father saw her then physically.

How clean and finally a resemblance of fat on the face of the daughter of medal praised Sergeant Adolph Daaé of the Navy Seals.

Her hair still visibly chopped shoulder length had grown, the blackness of her hair was just as harsh but now brilliant blonde roots were sprouting. There were no more retouches of the magic hands of her stylist and friend Marge, residue of mascara her dear friend introduced her to long gone after the unbearable heat in the small enclosed room had almost made her go mad. The small fat she had gained on her face had disappeared like it was a magic trick, her cheekbones still the high arched as they were before. Morticia was just as beautiful and fascinating to look at just as her mother wanted her to be.

As the cloth became less cool, Morticia watched in fascination as Rick Grimes' opened his lips-the skin cracked and painful to look at. Dipping a corner of the cloth in the half-filled water bowl, watching as it sucked in the water, the rag expanding and moving slightly with the added weight. Quickly placing the corner of it above his lips, letting few drops refresh the skin before letting him suck on the water. His throat moving greedily, the sucking noises calming Morticia's frayed nerves.

"You, Sheriff Grimes, are a really big baby right now. You are a fully-grown man, please wake up soon." His eyes fluttering behind lids slightly at her voice was her only inclination that there was still active brain activity other than an autonomic response as swallowing.

She spoke soft. Afraid any noise will rile up the hungry snarls of one of the many fellow patients she had for rounds. Johnson Seymour in the other room, only had to come in for a simple spinal tap and in turn the military gunned him down, not taking any chances. Morticia at first was going crazy with the constant banging, the screams of mothers looking for lost children and fathers screaming they're gone. The sound of riots and the snarls of excitement Roamers she learned expressed. The sounds of gunfire down below making her press her fingers into her ears- hoping for little bit of quiet. But when everything went silent, it was just her panicked breathing filling up the silence. When a thud or sound came from a Roamer, Morticia shut her eyes for now and she relished in it.

Rick was now practicing how to act in a casket, going on strong and didn't seem to want to falter on this hobby anytime soon and her only company was her mind. Thinking of her parents, Adolph and Amaria Daaé, was too scarring for Morticia, the childhood she had seemed complete and wispy to others on the outside. But behind closed doors, Morticia was prone to witness the lashings her father inflicted on her and her mother. Was a prime and only candidate for her father's and mother's grooming. The psychological trauma too great and thinking of boyfriend or ex-whatever he was now Shane Walsh was just too darn painful.

Morticia placed the rag over Rick's forehead after removing the excess water after dipping it in the bowl. Heading towards one of the gurneys she managed to put inside the room. A thick and tattered wool blanket she had found in the resident's lounge, a whispered thanks to her always cold fellow Damion and a hospital bed sheet bundled up served as a mediocre pillow, adorned it. Slipping off her sneakers, Morticia slipped onto the gurney with little difficulty and faced the Sheriff. The blanket that has seen better days tucked around her shoulders and the sad excuse of a pillow supported her neck.

Shane Walsh.

She hadn't thought of him since he pushed her away. Every time she closed her eyes, her brain was taunting her, almost as if a clown would jest with others, it's painted smile and sharp laughter gloating at their target. This time it was Morticia, reminding her of how the man with the soft chocolate eyes and she had met. She had just checked on her rounds and she craved the dark concoction of street coffee. The hospital hallways bussing with people she had become to know as family during her three years in King County. Spending her twenty first in the O.R, the Chief surprising her with a perforated bowel in an infant no older than 8 months. Her twenty second, Shane had taken her out on the roof of the hospital, his smirk plastered against his face as he took her up the flight of stairs. Her small hand grasping his, a smile had tugged on her lips. It was the one of the many times she felt a form of defiance towards her upbringing.

He brought in a gunshot wound one night. A full moon as she recalled, her father always saying full moon brought the best of things. She had been in the food truck getting a small coffee for the night, her hands warming instantly as she brought the Styrofoam cup to her lips. Morticia and another were working the shift and were the only willing residents to spend Thanksgiving away from family. Already with her own set of interns that were afraid of her in their own right- the many times she had called them idiots when couldn't place an I.V. was astounding. Morticia was soft spoken and sweet towards her co-workers and patients, but to staff who could easily make a mistake, Morticia was famous for her glare and raised eyebrow, a sharp tongue if they really pushed her. She knew just how much of a stink eye to put and they whimpered for fear of repercussions. She was Morticia W. Daaé. The doctor with the strange name but with eyes that warmed towards patients and became sharp as ice towards an intern who became too close or answered a question wrong. But she taught them nonetheless and she taught them well.

After assigning everyone to stitches and charts, the E.R was exceptionally busy, trauma rooms were taken up with patients who were bloody, and in grave condition. ' _It's Carving City_ ' one of the male nurses had muttered to Morticia before she entered the E.R. Nurses were filing the non-grave patients like cattle to the waiting room and interns bustling around trying to impress the residents and get a good word in to the current attending on deck. She had gone to discharge a few minor stitches when she had found his chart under a pile of other charts that were tossed in the pile of to see later, so Morticia asked the night nurse at the station how long were the _cops_ waiting with a _gunshot victim_. A shrug and an eye roll later, Morticia had sighed heavily, feeling the dark coffee sloshing in her belly, no longer a comforting heat.

Dodging other doctors on call towards "room" four, she opened the curtain to find a solid body mass of a male blocking her view of anything. She was at loss to be easily said, she was barely eye level to where his shoulder was pressed against the ugly tan of his uniform shirt. When she finally cleared her throat, he turned and she found a cut under his eye that was rapidly swelling. He was broad in everything, even through the police issued uniform slacks she could see his thighs were thickly muscled reminding her of a tree trunk, he had a slight scruff to his jaw and his nose was flat with a minor bump decorating it. He looked beautiful to her.

"Sheriff Deputy Walsh ma'am." His Georgia accent thick in his drawl and the slight tip of his cap was an inclination that he was raised with the set placed Georgia manners she'd seen in the time she lived in King's County. Morticia smiled at him, not a flirtatious smile she had watched Marge give to many men when they went to a coffee shop or the club that made Morticia squirm with nerves. Neither a smile of encouragement, she gave him the smile of complete politeness her mother had instilled in her since she was six.

Studying the boy's chart, Morticia glanced to the boy to assess the damage done. He bore no handcuffs and the furrowed brows and the steadily flow of dripping tears told her she needed to tread very carefully. A misstep and the child could snap. " What's your name?"

Hazel met green and Morticia smiled softly at him. One she reserved only for Marge and the rest of the people she worked with. Her patients usually got teeth thrown in, but the vibe of the boy tethering close to full blown breakdown had her announcing her presence with that smile. A small show of her dimples hopefully giving him the message she wasn't a foe and hopefully a friend.

"My name is Richard… Watson, ma'am." His voice was timid, the cracks in it almost having Morticia strain her ears to catch the words if she wasn't so used to mumbled phrases. He had fresh bruises on his jaw, small oval shaped ones on the side of his neck. Glancing at his date of birth on the chart, Morticia glanced at the Sheriff Deputy. A thick eyebrow that Marge had cleaned and arched was raised at him in question, the way his lips thinned out was her silent answer. Richard was only ten and suffering at the hands of a parent. He was hunched and cradling his left shoulder into his hand, no doubt in pain.

"I'm Dr. Daaé, can you lift up your arm for me sweetheart?" As Morticia asked him, she grabbed the small latex gloves, putting them on and not letting it slap against her wrist. Morticia studied the pained look in his eyes as he lifted his arm up slowly. Helping him, Morticia used three fingers checking if he had any broken ribs and finding at least one. Resting his arm, she moved the shirt and finding a clean entrance and exit wound of the bullet. Slightly touching the flesh, his hiss of pain and the immediate paleness Richard's tan features became, saddened Morticia.

"He may have suffered from other injuries, when I arrived on scene it was hectic. Don't know the extent of what he could have suffered." His voice was gruff, Morticia almost forgetting he existed. Nodding in understanding, she pulled the gloves off.

"Alright, I'm going to admit you to the pediatric ward, I'll have someone do a full workup then," inching her head to outside the hanged sheet, Morticia waited for the flutter of the curtain to settle after he closed it after him, "Any family?"

"Ward of state," he sighed, "Was supposed to be watching him but the McKinney case was taking all our attention."

Knowing the last bit was for his ears only, Morticia waved two fingers at one of her interns, the rapid nod she received knowing the boy would be getting transferred and was a top priority now, "Let's get the eye looked at."

Morticia was wary of him, even after she stitched his eye, her body between his thighs and practically on her tip-toes from how tall he was, and led him to the pediatric ward. Shane was trying to strike up a conversation. Simple questions that if she ignored would have made her the bad guy. So, she answered them. Where are you from? Colorado, Chosen a specialty, yet? Pediatric and Fetal... His presence screamed of male, built like a tower, demanding the attention of male and females. And he received them, it had made her stomach into tight nerves with all the stares when they got to floor eight. Pointing him towards the main waiting room, there's dinosaurs and hot wheel paintings- can't miss it, Morticia sat behind the nurse's station next to her friend. Marge smiling widely at her. Marge's deep auburn hair was pulled in a tight bun and her brown eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Margaret." Marge knew Morticia since their time in Dartmouth, the young girl having no time for bullshit until Marge begged her to step out of the norms. Morticia finally letting Marge put her stylist skills to use. Now the two women were inseparable Marge teaching her younger friend how exciting it was to step out of the box, knowing each other like the back of their hands. The use of her full name was a warning to not push it. So, Marge shrugged and winked at the girl five years younger than her.

Morticia blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, lost in the memory of it all, darkness had begun to plague the tiny room. A small ray of moon light shone on the metal bed frame. Winking at Morticia until she closed her eyes and slept. Knowing tomorrow she had to try and head outside the room to see if there was anything, a sign of actual life.

There was a small thud that woke her with a start, a light sleeper Morticia's ears were excellent and she knew it was just Johnson getting riled up. The sun was glaring brightly in their side of the hospital and with the way her clothes stuck to her body, sweat clinging to any inch of her skin was a sign to Morticia that it was noon or way past it. Blinking the sleep away, Morticia strained her eyes around the room to find it as it was. Seeing Rick was still playing dead, Morticia slid off the gurney, the blanket on the floor as she must have thrown it off her body as the heat became unbearable. The coolness of the tiles was a minor refreshment as it seeped through her socks. Walking towards the window, Morticia leaned against the dirty glass, using the lever to open the hospital window a crack. The warm air instantly felt refreshing to her skin, waking up sweaty she was used to during the occasional summer morning in Colorado. Although in King's County it was an everyday occurrence that left Morticia sticky and craving a cool shower every hour. Turning, Morticia watched Rick's chest raise with his every breath, a small comfort to her. Lifting the blanket back up the gurney and glancing at the way his hair stuck to his temples with sweat, Morticia began prepping everything she needed. The pink medium sized tub filled halfway with water, the cloth, and hopefully her nerves to become a ball of steel.

"Alright Sheriff," dipping the cloth fully, Morticia wrung the excess water before gently swiping his forehead, "What story do you want this time? The time I needed surgery because we have a useless sac of an appendage or," swiping against his cheek, feeling his stubble catch on the cotton fibers, "how about when I thought I ran over a dog?"

Smiling softly, she ran a finger against his jaw. Rick was a handsome man. Shane carried this air of ignorance, his testosterone pulling all in, his broken and haggard features along with his large frame caused heads to turn. Rick was a striking male. He was lean and his posture was tall, a sense of an aristocratic presence that demanded all to listen. A smooth nose and cheekbones that framed his blue eyes- which Morticia was sure had a spell that pulled you in.

"Well Sheriff, it'll be only half a tale for now. I'll tell you the other half much later. I have errands after this." Patting his chest, Morticia then placed the rag on his forehead. Morticia's voice was low, retelling her favorite childhood memory on how she had hit a pothole but was still too young to know the difference and believed it was a dog.

* * *

Morticia first avoided the door to the hallway like her life was danger, which ironically it was. But she knew she needed to head out, the I.V bag was running dangerously low and were down to the last one. Just a rag dipped into his mouth wouldn't give him what he would need. So, Morticia grabbed the small duffel out from the patient assigned closet.

Opening it she grabbed and neatly folded it on her gurney. Painstakingly slow. Folding in the sleeves, lifting the hem halfway up. Side, smooth out creases. Too creasy, do it again, much slower and deliberately. Sighing, Morticia tapped her nails of the metal frame and spared a glance towards the door. Looking back at the white t-shirt, after three times it was already the smoothest it'll be. She gnawed her bottom lip, her brows furrowed as she stared at one folded crease jutting from the shirt, the sting of her bite jolting her. Grabbing the pants, she spread it and ran her hands on each of the denim, smoothing it down the best she could.

Her mother always chided on her that clothes needed to be folded neatly before her father arrived home from his work at the farm. He would be angry if it weren't neat and up to par with his standards. After years of her mother teaching her how to spread the clothes and fold them without a single wrinkle, she could only remember one handful of Morticia getting the Hand because of laundry.

Sighing, Morticia grabbed the now empty duffel bag, the black cloth now dulled and the Kings County Police Department patch faded and tattered at the edges. Slinging it over her shoulder, Morticia turned back once more to stare at Rick, the warm handle of the door made her palm clammier to the touch. She hoped he would wake right now. That she didn't have to leave the safety of the room and face the horrors of outside.

Hearing the rattle of Rick's cage as he took deep breaths, Morticia's shut her eyes.

"All is well, bug. No harm will come." Her whispers reached her ears, a tiny blanket of comfort to her. Nodding to herself, Morticia opened the door, meeting face to face with an empty corridor littered with bodies and thrown papers. Manila folders crumpled, with its once contents strewn about, the little sheets that read a person's complete and total history of their lives. Deep dark and dried blood decorated the once pristine walls of the ICU floor. Lifeless eyes of patients, their families and nurses stared at Morticia's, mouth opened in silent screams of horror. Choking back a sob, Morticia saw a little boy with a ghastly hole in his forehead, his deep mocha skin now a had a grayish tint. The smell of a deep setting rot penetrated her nostrils, clinging to all her senses. The scratches and the small squeaks of rats reached her ears. Their little chippers of those invading and disgusting rodents communicating loud amongst the static flickering of the fading lights. Morticia barely turned her body to the side of the door frame to have a burning yellow liquid escape the confines of her stomach and out her mouth.

She had forgone eating, rather taking minimal water sips in fear of making her stomach pains return with a vengeance. Now she regretted her decision as the bile burned the sensitive skin of her throat and as her stomach clenched with the force of her body's natural instinct. Her hand clenched against her jeans, the yellow liquid blending with the black grime on the floor cracks. She remembered how clean this hospital was; so clear and white. But now dark patches of mold and somebody's lifeline reminded her that death was much closer than any other threat.

Closing the door behind her, the click muffled, "It's alright, Bug. You'll be alright." She hoped the old nickname, thinking of her father's hugs and her mother's cheek pinches would help Morticia. But her knees wouldn't move, no matter how she begged them to take a step forward, they froze.

The click felt like an echo taking Morticia back to the nights when her mother would sneak in her room. Morticia was always excited, learning new words in Spanish. Containing her squeals of happiness, her six-year-old self would make every time she got a new _palabra_ down to the T, the accents and the twists of the word coming off easily from the tip of her tongue. Relishing in the tales of her grandparents and her mother when she lived in Cuba before she snuck onto a boat to go to the great United States of America. Then like cold water her mother would lean forward whispering about how careful little Bug had to be. You do remember how your father can't know you're learning Spanish, _mi hormigita_? Remember the hand? Mm… good, Goodnight little one. Just like that, the good feelings were gone. Morticia would stare at her mother as she left, hazel eyes just like the beautiful Amaria, watering as she left the room, leaving the resonation of the door clicking behind her.

Taking a deep breath, full of the smell of decayed flesh and the urines of animals who feasted upon the bodies who were once people, Morticia stared at the bile making a home on the darkened floor. A bit of the burning liquid had landed on her shoe, a wet spot now on the grey fabric, the acidity no doubt already tinting and bleaching the delicately interwoven fibers.

 _I can do this..._

With that little thought, such a tiny sentence of hope, Morticia took a step forward- towards the tunneling darkness of the East wing corridor. She knew this hospital like she understood her father's moods. He was predictable. Always the same anger and the punishments were never new, Adolph never conjuring up something raw and terrifying that made Morticia's bones tremble with fear. It was something, she was familiar with, something she has already seen. What now lurked, living in the shadows filled with the undead and secrets that shouldn't be opened, feeding off Morticia's aversion, reminded her of her dear mother with the same eyes as her. So cunning and startling, a viper curled, not at all asleep fully, slit eyes awake and sensing- waiting to strike. And if Morticia wasn't careful she'd die before she took a proper breath that didn't cause aches of woe to rattle in between her rib cage, clutching her heart in such a deep vice, a fear so saturated in her senses Morticia felt as she was going to drown without being surrounded of water.


End file.
